


Beyond the Debris

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Stepping Stones [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A little angst, Blood, Comfort, Cuddling, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Healing, Injury, M/M, but there’s something in the air, not quite friends yet, not quite lovers either, pre-fenders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:11:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: Badly wounded after a fight, Fenris stumbles into Anders’ clinic late at night, looking for healing, yet gaining new insights into the mage’s sleeping arrangements along the way.They come in handy when, a few weeks later, he finds Anders in need of comfort.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some mentions of blood and injuries, nothing all too graphic though.

Phasing through the door took the last of his strength. He stumbled, steadying himself against the wall, just barely avoiding a collision with the rapidly approaching dirt and rubble of the clinic’s floor. Not time to collapse just yet.

“Mage. I am in need of assistance.”

His voice didn’t want to be used, breathing itself was agony, but he made it obey him. His body always obeyed, as long as there was some sliver of life left in it. It was what it was used to, what it had been trained for. Made for.

There was no reply.

Once more, through the pain.

“Healing would be welcome. Now.”

Urgently welcome. Fenris was no healer, but he didn’t need to be to know that there shouldn’t be that much of his blood on the outside of his body, or the floor, still more coming, forcing its way past his hands, no matter how frantically they tried to hold his flesh together. Foolish. Careless. So used to fighting second-rate bandits that he had got complacent. Lazy. The smarter ones still knew where to strike, where their chance lay, didn’t waste time on trying to get to his chest or neck. They had caught him off guard. And now his side was nearly cut in half, blood oozing out against what little pressure he could apply while walking, more wounds on his legs, less deep but too many, not enough armour. Foolish. Helpless. A bandage wouldn’t fix this; healing was his only chance.

And there was still no reply.

No time to close his eyes, no time to rest yet. _Walk_. On burning legs, flames licking at his soles. He limped through the darkness of the clinic, stale air, his ears picking up nothing but silence. Empty cots, lumps of sheets, messy stacks of paper on the desk. A broken toy on the floor, he almost tripped, but next to him, a cot, his hand grabbing it, steadying, resting. Breathing fire, another step, using his aching voice again, calling out with more force than he could safely manage.

“Anders! I need help!”

He thought he heard shuffling, but no movement met his eyes. Just foolish hope. Mice, rats, whatever vermin chose to dwell in this place, probably startled by his yelling. He reached a wall, and there was nowhere left to go, just a mineshaft full of debris and an empty clinic.

The mage wasn’t here. And Fenris would not make it to anywhere else. His legs hardly managed to support him standing. Even if they still worked, where could he go? There were other healers, certainly, there had to be, but he didn’t have time to find them, nor the coin on him to pay them. Foolish. No contingency plan. Depending on one mage, idling in the belief he would always help. One mage to heal them all. A companion, not a friend, and yet he had relied on him being there…and _where_ was he?

Not with Hawke; Hawke was on the witch’s cursed mountain, with the pirate and the dwarf. Probably down in the sewers somewhere, bringing even more danger into the city, more mages to scurry through the darkness like explosive rats….Well, perhaps there was a healer among them. One that was in his clinic when he was needed. Smirking was painful. Everything was pain. And the mage wasn’t here. It had all been in vain. Defeated a powerful magister, to be slain by your everyday mugger. Perhaps the mage would return in time…Fenris did not want to die on this filthy floor, alone, surrounded by nothing but dirt and rats. But he would not make it back to Hightown. He wasn’t even sure he’d make it back to the door. He sunk to the ground, resting against the wall, fighting to keep his eyes open.

The shuffling was still there, growing louder. That had to be a giant rat indeed. Time was slipping away from him; it seemed to take hours to turn his head towards the source of the noise, somewhere in the depths of the mineshaft. His eyes didn’t want to stay open, fighting him like the rest of his body. Obedience slipping. Perhaps he could allow them to close, just for a moment, perhaps….

“Fenris?”

A dishevelled mess of blond hair was peeking out over the debris. He tried to lift his hand, blood dripping on the floor, tried to speak… _Help me…Please…_ when darkness took him.

 

Darkness was still around him when he came to, only held in check by a handful of candles next to…where was he? He tried to move his head, everything still a little heavy and fuzzy. Underneath him a….cot…the clinic. A hand on his cheek, forcing his head up – a gentle pressure, insistent but not invasive – another hand bringing a cup to his lips.

“You need to drink this. But slowly. Take your time.” A voice, soft and close. The pungent taste of metal and salt, a thick liquid in his throat. So much of it. Slowly, steadily. The world shifted back into focus, his body cooperating again. Legs, moving. Arms, moving. Breath coming. Still a little sore, but no longer agony.

The cup was eased away and the voice – the mage’s voice – spoke again.

“That’s enough for now. Your body needs time; it can’t handle it all at once.” Shuffling, movement, then a face came into view. The mage must have crouched down beside him. “How are you feeling? It should be better now, although you still look only marginally less like a ghost.”

His voice, hoarse but at his command again. “I am…alright. Thank you….What happened?”

There was a snort. Oh yes. So much like the mage. “You tell me. Something woke me up, and I crawled out of bed to find you bleeding out on my floor. You were pretty sliced up. It wasn’t quite as bad as I at first feared, but you lost a lot of blood.”

Fenris tried to think, to work through the fog. The memories had to be in there somewhere. They had to be. He would not lose even one more moment of his life. “There were…bandits. I finished them off but…they got me…I was…hurt. The lift was close. I needed healing, so I came…here. But you were…gone,” he frowned, remembering the mage’s words. Woke up? “I did not see you anywhere. The room was empty.” He looked around, a question occurring to him, a question which in turn raised the further question of how he had managed to never think of the first one. “Where…is your bed?”

“In there,” Anders said, pointing to the mineshaft behind them.

Fenris’ brow furrowed in confusion. “It is filled with debris.”

The mage’s lips curled ever-so-slightly upwards. “Well, not all of it. It only goes about halfway through. But I do have to climb over it to get into the clinic; that’s why it took me so long to get to you.”

“Why exactly would you choose to sleep in a wreckage-filled death-trap? Your clinic is spacious.”

“It provides excellent cover. I mean, you thought there was nothing but rubble in there too! I’ve hidden a bed behind it. If Templars come looking, they’ll think the place is empty, just like you did.” He huffed. “And it’s not a death-trap. I’ve moved the debris around and secured it on the other side. You get used to it. I’m not that fond of dark, confined places, but there’s enough room at the top for some light to seep in…and it makes me feel safer. I couldn’t keep sleeping on the cots; even the tiniest noise outside made me jolt up in panic.”

Fenris took a closer look at the shaft and indeed, the rubble seemed to be in a different position than it had been when Hawke had taken him to the clinic for the first time. He was fairly certain both entrances had been at least partially open then. Now, one was covered by rocks from top to bottom. He looked back at the mage, frowning.

“Why did I not know about this?”

Anders lifted his eyebrows and himself, unfurling his body from his crouching position, and walked over to the next cot. He perched himself on its edge before he replied, “You never asked. None of you did.” Touché. Then again, why should he have cared? Moreover, Fenris was fairly certain Hawke and the dwarf had no idea either, and they _were_ friends with the mage. “And anyway, I feel safer with not too many people knowing,” Anders added.

That, Fenris understood perfectly. He nodded. “I shall not tell anyone, then. You have my word, mage.”

Anders’ eyebrows seemed to have made themselves comfortable in his hairline, and his voice was equally sceptical. “No one?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, gratitude warring with exasperation. “If I intended to turn you in, don’t you think I would have done so by now?”

“Well,” the mage said, eyebrows sinking as his hands began to fidget. “I have to admit I was…surprised when you told Sebastian you wouldn’t sell us out to the Templars. I would have thought you of all people would be thrilled to see me locked up. We’re not exactly on good terms, not to mention your general opinion of mages.”

“You may not have my trust, and you have made it abundantly clear that you do not want my friendship, still, my loyalty to Hawke does extend to you. You have nothing to fear from me. So long as you do not betray me, I will not betray you.”

There was a long silence. The mage seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He kept them there when he finally, quietly, said. “You could claim I already did that when I said those things about your…friendship. Especially considering _when_ I said them...”

Fenris huffed, and regretted it instantly; his body was still weaker than he had realized. “For that to have been betrayal, I would have had to have expected better from you.” It was hard to tell in the near-dark, but he thought he saw the mage wince ever so slightly. “And telling me I am not your friend is not the same as helping them take away your freedom.”

Now, Anders did look at him, his fidgeting having become worse. “No, but I’m not sure I would have fought for yours…I only did it because Hawke asked me too.”

This was in no way news to Fenris, yet he was surprised that the mage was actually admitting to it. Just as surprising: it made him smile. “Again, I did not expect better. And take note that I did not offer to battle Templars for you. I merely promised I would not _help_ them capture you.”

Anders returned the smile. “Well, I can honestly say I wouldn’t send slavers after you either. Even if that isn’t much…”

“Not much, yet more than expected.” Fenris heaved a sigh. He was being ungrateful. “And you did just heal me, mage. Hawke is not here. He is not even in the city. You could have stayed behind your rubble and waited for me to either leave or bleed to death. He would never have known. Yet you chose to save me.”

The mage frowned, his forehead resembling a freshly ploughed field. “Is your opinion of me really that low? I may not particularly like you, and yes, I might prefer you were out of my way, but Fenris, I don’t want you _dead_.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Fenris would have deemed it impossible, but the creases in the mage’s forehead deepened even further. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Must be the blood loss.”

Anders remained quiet for a moment, his face slowly spreading into a wide grin. “If blood loss makes you behave like this, perhaps I should consider Blood Magic after all… I could syphon your blood for power; you’d smile more – everybody wins.”

Perhaps he was too exhausted, perhaps he was too comfortable; in either case, Fenris couldn’t find the energy to be outraged. Thus, he merely raised a single eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck, mage.”

It did nothing to wipe the mage’s grin away. Still, Anders got up, bent to pick the cup off the floor and handed it back to Fenris. “You should drink the rest now.”

Fenris took it from him gingerly, frowning. “It is disgusting.”

“Yes, but it helps your body make new blood, which in turn helps with staying alive. Quite a plus, in my book. Also, it’s a potion few mages know how to make, so be glad you’ve got such a talented healer…Oh, and you’ll have to drink at least three more of those. One every three hours. Slooooowly.”

“You are enjoying this.”

“I’m a professional, Fenris. But yes, I’ll admit I’ve had worse days.” He winked playfully as he went to fetch more potions. “You can take them with you and go home, if you wish to, though I’d suggest you stay right where you are for the night. Your skin may be shiny as new, but your body still needs to rest.”

“If it is not too much trouble, I would prefer not to risk more fights on my way home.”

“Wise choice, how very unlike you. Well, alright then, don’t forget to drink the potions, and should you get hungry, there’s food on the shelf over there. Leave some for my breakfast though. Aside from that, just get some sleep. You should be fine to leave tomorrow morning….and I’ll try to catch some rest now, too. Speaking of syphoning, your wounds ate up nearly all of my mana. Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said. He added, “And…you sleep well too,” but the mage was already disappearing behind the rubble.

 

 

Hawke’s words had been harsh. Not unkind, not untrue. But harsh. And the mage had stormed off, dejected and defeated. It wasn’t Fenris’ place to check on him, even less his place to worry about him, but after their ordeal in the Deep Roads, after Anders had lost control of his demon, after what they had found out about this magister Darkspawn, after Hawke’s words…and Fenris’ words….he _was_ worried. They had all been frayed, on edge, too much darkness and corruption around them…and too much of the mage’s future. Fenris hadn’t known. And Hawke hadn’t cared, which was unlike him, although not really that surprising, given that nothing about him seemed much like his usual self at the moment. Something had cracked when he had found out about his father, and the pieces hadn’t come back together yet.

Now, Hawke was in the Hanged Man, drunk and loud and full of aggressive despair. Fenris had been drinking as well, but chosen to leave him in Aveline’s care after the second round. The mage hadn’t joined them in the first place, slinking off right after they passed through the city gates. No one had stopped him. Hawke was Anders’ friend; he usually treated him with kindness, and Fenris had little doubt he would again, once he came back out of this stupor of rage. Fenris knew the feeling, and he knew Hawke needed help too, but he had Aveline to take care of him. The mage had no one, and he hadn’t seemed like he could wait until Hawke turned back into himself… While Hawke had only learned what his father had been forced to do, the mage had seen what he would one day become. And what his kind had always been. Fenris sighed. “Some of his kind. You cannot condemn them all,” Hawke always said. But he hadn’t said it today, too bitter, too full of fresh hurt. (Fenris knew that feeling, too.) And Anders had crumbled right in front of their eyes. Neither Aveline nor Hawke had cared and although it hadn’t been Fenris’ intention, he feared that to Anders, his words had felt like he was trying to stomp him even further into the ground.

He knew the mage would not want to see him. Still, he walked towards the clinic at a steady pace. Fenris wasn’t Anders’ friend; he couldn’t give him comfort. But he _could_ give him a fight. A fight would make Anders angry, and with anger, life might come back. Anger was not what he truly needed – Fenris was not the person who could give him that, nor the person he would accept it from – but it was better than this hollow, crumpled despair.

So once again, he phased through the door.

The clinic was dark, the mage not answering Fenris’ calls. He looked at the door. He looked at the debris. He sighed. He had made his decision. He had watched Anders climb in and out; it was easy enough to remember. He hauled himself up.

The lack of light made it slightly more difficult than Fenris would have imagined, and once he had reached the top and was climbing down the other side, he had to be careful not to set lose any of the smaller pieces that might compromise the balance of the whole pile and create a potentially-mage-crushing rockslide, but eventually he reached the ground, dusted himself off and looked around.

There wasn’t exactly much of an “around”. The shaft was narrow, just enough space for a chest, a single candle that could quickly be snuffed out on top of it, a covered pot Fenris didn’t want to think about too hard, a small bed, offering just barely more room than a cot, and on the bed…The mage had not ignored his calls. He was asleep, facing the wall, tightly curled in on himself, clinging as if his life depended on it to...pillows. Despite the mage’s limited number of heads, the bed was full of pillows, and Anders was holding on to a good number of them, hugging them like one might...a lover. Something about it tugged at Fenris’ insides. The mage looked small, small and so completely alone; he reminded Fenris of…himself. He felt a strange urge taking hold of him, an urge he knew he should fight, no good could come of it. But he could not help himself. Every part of him wanted to comfort Anders, to hold him. To take away his loneliness.

He started to move, wondering what in Blight’s name he was doing but doing it anyway. He lifted the thin blanket and carefully crawled into bed behind the mage, wrapping his arms around him as he snuggled against his back. Anders didn't stir, but his body seemed to relax against him, breath even, in tune with Fenris' own. Fenris was still idly trying to figure out what kind of demon of foolishness had possessed him when he drifted away into a peaceful sleep.

When he woke up, soft brown eyes, _open_ eyes were but inches away from his face.

"Good morning Fenris."

"I...mage...."

"I have to admit, finding you in my bed was a surprise..."

Panic took over. Panic and shame at having crossed a line. Fenris made to get up. He had to put some distance between himself and the mage before he could apologise… A hand was placed on his shoulder, gently holding him back.

"A good one!" Fenris stilled. "I am grateful for the company… For being there for me, holding me…Maker, for even coming here in the first place. I just...don't really understand why."

"I was worried. You seemed deeply unsettled, and Hawke was too hurt to realize he was being cruel. I…did not realize I was being cruel myself. I wanted to check on you.” He smiled, a little shyly. “I thought yelling at me might help.” Fenris could feel, more than hear, the mage’s soft chuckle. He cleared his throat. “You were asleep. You looked...lonely. I...wanted to help." Venhedis, how lame that sounded. “I cannot heal you like you healed me, but…I could do…this.” That sounded just as lame.

Nevertheless, it made Anders smile. "Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate it, I really do. And…it did help." The mage looked at him, closely, as if examining his face. "You look exhausted. I don’t know when you joined me, but I assume I got several more hours of sleep than you did. Are you still tired? That trip took a lot out of all of us."

Fenris did indeed feel like a Bronto had walked all over his body (which had, in fact, very nearly happened), but he didn’t want the mage to worry about him. The situation was awkward enough already. "It is no trouble."

Strong but gentle arms wrapped around him, carefully, pulling his body the final inches towards the mage. "I wouldn't mind a little more rest either. Why don’t you let me return the favour and hold you for a bit?"

_Thank you_ , Fenris thought, but he didn't say it, merely nestled his head between the mage’s neck and shoulder and closed his eyes. He fell asleep breathing in Anders’ scent, which was strangely familiar, and comforting in a way he had never been aware of.


End file.
